Chapter Title from 'Brother' by *Kodaline*
Chapter by: Posher10
Minas Tirith, the 7 of Lothron, in the year 2989 of the Third Age
A young boy of six pushed his way through the thick crowd, running underfoot. Most did not notice him, as he weaved through their legs as only one who had grown up in Minas Tirith could.
The boy did not look special. His hair was raven and fell to the back of his neck in a messy bob, as was a usual style of Gondorlorien men. His eyes were grey and intelligence, taking in every detail around in an instant, crouching and ducking around arms and parcels. His skin tone was strange, being neither tan nor pale. His frame was lithe and skinny, unlike most boys his age, and his clothes almost hung off his frame.
But even though he did not look it, this boy was special. This boy was Faramir, Second Son of Denethor II and the late Lady Findulias. Right now, though, he didn't feel like that. He felt like a disappointment.
He slid like a snake through the limbs and took a left into a dark alleyway. About half-way to the other side, he collapsed against one of the walls, shivering. Their taunts ran in his head, like a chorus to a terrible song.
*…weakling son…*
*…good thing you weren't born first, no one would ever follow you…*
*…disappointment…*
*…worthless…*
Faramir pounded his hands against the sides of his skull, as though that would somehow help. That word rang again and again in his head, scratching relentlessly at his brain, rooting itself deep in his mind.
*…worthless…*
*…worthless…*
*…worthless…*
*…worthless…*
His young, naïve mind took their words to heart, drawing conclusions from evidence that didn't make sense.
*They're right.* He thought, lifting his head. *They're right. I am worthless and a disgusting disappointment to everyone.* Faramir understood now, why his father always looked at him with content, or that strange face his tutors would pull if he answered a question incorrectly or missed a shot with his bow. (Both of those things happened far too often for his liking.)
Small, silver tears began to run down his checks and he brushed them away.
*… ah, look. The brat's crying! Isn't that just adorable?...*
It was a fruitless effort.
Faramir's brain scrambled for a way to fix himself, change the flaws that he 'knew' where inside of him. He couldn't try harder, that wouldn't work… A solution popped into his head and, as he lifted his water-streaked face, he knew what he was to do. A flame started to blaze in his eyes.
He knew the way he could help everyone else, rid them of having to cart around his worthless self.
And he knew that he was strong enough to do it.
Boromir was annoyed. He was trying to find his little brother, who had apparently decided that it was a good idea to play a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek. Faramir hadn't been in the library or any of his other favorite haunts and they had promised each other that they were going to the river after lessons!
He grumbled again under his breath, deciding to go talk to his father's advisors. Most were nice to him, at least, and would tell him if they had seen the Steward's younger son.
Boromir walked with an elegant step, his wrists crossed behind his back, staring ahead at all times, back ramrod straight. People often said that he acted far beyond his meer eleven years and Boromir silently agreed. Other ten to twelve-year-olds always seemed too immature to him.
But… Faramir… Boromir would tear down Minas Tirith single-handedly, stone-by-stone, just to see him smile.
The corridor he had chosen to walk in was deserted, and that had been why he had picked it. It gave him time to think, ponder over where his brother could be.
Honestly, he didn't understand it! Faramir loved their trips to the river. Not being able to stop smiling the entire time they were there made that fact quite obvious. So why had Boromir's little brother mysteriously vanished?
He sighed again, letting the sound drift through the mute halls. Until they suddenly weren't. Boromir heard heavy booted feet slam into the polished stone.
Someone was in a hurry.
Someone was running.
He heard his breath before he saw him and even that was just a blur. A head of ebony hair. Tan skin. Before the figure skidded to a halt in front of him and Boromir looked dead into his earthly eyes.
"Liron." He breathed, addressing the eight-year-old who he now knew to be Aegliron, son of the Lord Aramdir and late Lady Nirnaethiel.
"Boromir." He friend gasped, hands on his knees to support himself. "I need your help." The steward's son nodded. He could find his brother later. "It's about Faramir." Never mind.
"What about him?"
"I can't find him. He didn't come to archery lessons but his history tutor said that he had left to go there an hour before. He never made it!"
"That is odd." Boromir wondered aloud, "He loves archery. Why wouldn't he go?..."
"I don't know, but I can't find him anywhere!"
"Liron!" He almost shouted, "Calm your breathing. You're going to make yourself faint." Aramdir's son gulped and took a gasp, trying to steady his breath. It evened out soon after.
"Come on," Boromir said placidly, turning around to walk the other direction. "Let's check his room."
But inside he was panicking.
He baby brother was missing.
*Missing.*
*Missing.*
*Missing. *
The word repeated itself in his mind.
They reached the thin oak door that served as a barrier to Faramir's room. Boromir knocked softly with the back of his knuckle. No answer. He knocked louder. Not a sound. Sighing, he grasped the handle, muttering: "It better not be locked," under his breath before he jerked the door open.
They scanned the room. No one.
But on his desk was a letter that said, 'To My Brother'. Boromir swallowed hard, took a breath, and opened it before reading the contents.
He cursed after only a second, dropping the letter onto his brother's bed and rushing out of the room, leaving a very confused Liron behind.
The paper was facing up and he turned his head to read it.
Written in the scrolling penmanship of the six-year-old Faramir, were the words: 'I am a disgusting mess. I do nothing and hinder everyone. I am leaving now. You will never see me again. It will be better this way.'
His face shone with horror, and he ran after his friend with all haste.
